


She Shoots, She Scores

by sylviarachel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Adopted Children, Anxiety, Christmas Fluff, Dad Bitty, Dad Jack, Future Fic, Gen, Jack and Bitty as seen by their kids, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Female Character, Parent-Child Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bilingual family, goalie equipment is freaking expensive y'all, youth hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviarachel/pseuds/sylviarachel
Summary: Allie Bittle, age 11, has a teammate with a problem and grandparents who can obviously solve it. If only Papa and Daddy would let her explain.Or, playing hockey is fun; paying for it, maybe not so much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A friend posted pics of their kid the goalie and his hockey team on Facebook, and ... this happened. It could definitely be a far-future sequel to [Follow Me Down to Georgia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245594) but Idk whether it actually is.
> 
> The title is silly but I couldn't think of a good one :P
> 
> CW: this fic mentions a child with a serious illness, so if that's a painful topic for you, approach with caution. It does have a happy ending for everyone, though!

**November**

"Alicia Suzanne Bittle!"

Allie gulps, and exchanges a worried glance with Robbie. Not only has Papa pulled out her full name -- always bad news -- but he's using what Daddy calls his Captain Jack Laurent Bittle Zimmermann voice, which ...

Allie scrambles to her feet, yanks open the door of Robbie's bedroom, and clatters down the stairs, calling, "J'y viens, Papa!"

Behind her, she hears Robbie following more slowly, clinging to the bannisters.

Papa is standing in the front hall, jacket and toque and boots still on, arms folded across his broad chest.

Allie skids to a stop on the marble tiles and looks up at him apprehensively. "C'que c'est, Papa?" she asks.

"C'est quoi ça que Pépère me raconte, Allie?" Papa says, slow and serious. Allie quakes in her fuzzy zebra socks. "Tu lui as demandé--"

"Jack, honey?" Daddy comes out from the kitchen, drying his hands on a tea-towel. He glances from Papa to Allie and back; makes a worried little frown at Robbie, who's lurking near the bottom of the stairs like he's afraid to come all the way down. "You sound upset. What's going on?"

Papa blinks, and his serious face relaxes a little. "C'est ça que j-- That's what I'm trying to find out," he says.

"Well, going by the expression on your son's face," Daddy says, "I think you might be comin' on a little too strong, sweetheart."

Allie twists around to look at her brother, who, yes, is looking a lot more anxious than is probably good for him. "It's okay, LittleBit," she says, holding out one hand. Robbie negotiates one more hesitant step down the stairs, reaching towards Allie with one hand while still clinging to the bannister with the other. Finally he takes a deep breath and scuttles down the last two steps and across the floor to cuddle in under Allie's arm and bury his face in the front of her t-shirt.

Allie holds Robbie firmly, but not too tight, and pets his soft dark hair. When she looks up at Papa again, her heart hurts, because all she can see in his face now is how terrible he feels about scaring Robbie. It's funny how much alike they look--Robbie's adopted, just like Allie, but people are always saying how much she looks like Daddy and she's noticed before that Robbie has the same dark hair as Papa, the same frown when he's concentrating on something, the same awkward intensity that, according to Daddy, is "a side effect of only having two settings, zero and a hundred and twelve percent."

Robbie and Papa make exactly the same face when they're anxious and sad about something, and for Robbie, anyway, snuggling always helps. At least a little.

"Family hug?" Allie suggests.

Robbie nods against her stomach.

Daddy says, "Good call, baby girl," and immediately folds both of them up in his warm arms and the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger. Papa hesitates, though, until Allie says, "Viens 'citte, Papa!" and Daddy says, "Jack, you're missin' out on some quality hugging here," and when he finally does join in, Allie's ear pressing against his ribs can hear his heart beating way too fast.

They hug for a while, and then Papa disentangles himself and sits right down on the floor next to Robbie, smooths both hands down over his narrow shoulders, and says, "Chui désolé, p'tit-gars. I'm so sorry I scared you."

Robbie, whose thumb has found its way into his mouth again (they're not worrying about it, Daddy says, he'll stop when he's ready, and Allie will fight anybody who makes fun of Robbie for still sucking his thumb, and if Papa won't let her fight with her fists she'll just find some other, sneakier way to do it), looks at Papa for a long considering moment. Then he takes his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, "Ça va, Papa. Je t'aime, Papa," and climbs into Papa's lap.

"Je t'aime aussi, p'tit-gars. Je t'aime tellement. All the way to the moon and back." Papa closes his eyes and wraps Robbie up in his big, strong arms and starts rocking him (rocking them both) gently, singing under his breath with his cheek against the top of Robbie's head.

Daddy looks at them, and looks at Allie, and shakes his head. "These boys," he says, almost too quietly for Allie to hear. And then, a little louder, "How about some cocoa and gingersnaps, Miss Zebra Socks?"

"Well, I _guess_ I can be bribed with gingersnaps," says Allie. She knows perfectly well that the gingersnaps are going to come with a side dish of So Tell Me What That Was All About, Young Lady, but she thinks Daddy will probably understand. Well, Papa would've understood, too, she's pretty sure, if she'd actually gotten a chance to _explain_.

Daddy waits until she's got a mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows and a mouthful of gingersnap (Daddy's gingersnaps are THE BEST gingersnaps) before he leans his elbows on the kitchen island, tilts his head on one side, and says, "So, tell me, sugar-snap, what was goin' on out there?"

Allie chews and swallows. "Pépère asked what I wanted for Christmas," she says. The mug of cocoa shakes a little in her hand, so she puts it down and folds her hands together. "And I said, could I please have a set of those brush-tip markers that Aunt Lardo has, and also a lot of money."

Daddy's eyebrows disappear under his bangs. (Daddy needs a haircut, Allie realizes. He must have been really busy lately because Papa often forgets to do anything about his hair until it's actually hanging right over his eyes, but Daddy never does.) "Sweetheart--"

"No, _listen_!" Allie interrupts, loud and passionate. As soon as the words are out she claps both hands over her mouth, because interrupting is _so rude_ and she is definitely old enough to know better.

But Daddy just says, "I'm listening, darlin'."

Allie swallows hard. "Because you know Renata, on my hockey team? She's our starting goalie, she got that shutout last month? Her little sister Karolina is really sick, and her mom missed too many days of work and now she doesn't have a job because her boss is a--um--not a nice person, and so Renatka might not be able to play anymore, and. And. And I thought, Pépère and Mémère sometimes give me some money for Christmas, but I don't really _need_ any money right now, so if they gave me enough, I could give it to Renatka and then she could buy new skates and pads that fit better, and I know it costs money to be on the team, and--

"No, Daddy, don't cry! Karolina is really sick but she's going to get better--"

"Oh, honey." Daddy comes around Allie's side of the island and pulls her up off her barstool into his arms. He hugs her so tight she almost can't breathe; she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, like when she was Robbie's age and used to pretend to be a sloth or a baby monkey.

"Daddy?" she says, sort of into his neck. "Don't cry," she says again. "I mean--" Daddy and Papa always tell her and Robbie that it's okay to cry if you need to, and that feelings aren't good or bad they just _are_ ... but still, it doesn't feel good that she made Daddy cry.

Daddy loosens his grip enough to set Allie on her bum on the kitchen island and look into her face. His eyes are still swimmy with tears, but he's smiling, too. "It's okay, sweetpea. I'm happy that you wanted to do such a kind thing for your friend. I'm so proud of you that you would think of that. And I'm sure Mémé and Grandad Bob would understand. But ... well, you know you can't always just ... give people money, though, right?"

Allie frowns. "Why not? I like it when people give me money."

"Yes, but like you said -- you don't really _need_ money. It's ... well, getting money to buy something fun for your birthday, say, is different from when you can't pay for something you really need."

"But..."

Daddy sighs. "It's hard to explain," he says. "When ... when someone works very hard but doesn't have much money -- like Renata's mama -- sometimes ... sometimes when someone else just _gives_ you money -- like it's nothing to them because they have so much? -- instead of making you feel good, like they meant it to, it makes you feel bad. Like ... like you should be able to take care of yourself and pay your own way, but you can't, and someone else has to rescue you because you messed up."

"That's silly, Daddy," Allie says, because it _is_. "Anybody could have trouble and need help, it's not always because they messed up. It's not Renatka's mom's fault that Karolina got sick and she had to take care of her, it just _happened_."

"I know, baby." Daddy sighs again. "Okay, you know how sometimes Robbie thinks things are his fault when they aren't, and gets really anxious?"

Allie can't help glancing over Daddy's shoulder towards where the stairs are; she can just about hear Robbie and Papa quietly talking. "Yeah," she says. _And Robbie's not the only one_ , she doesn't say.

"And you know how it doesn't help to tell him that he shouldn't worry, and how his feelings are real even when they don't make logical sense?"

"Yeah," Allie says again.

She waits for Daddy to keep going, but he doesn't, which is a sign he's waiting for her to figure something out on her own ...

"...Oh," she says, finally. "Okay. I understand, I think? Or ... kind of?"

"Okay," Daddy says. He smiles and kisses Allie's forehead. "I know it's weird. You know what, though? I think I might have a really good idea. Let me talk to Papa and Grandad Bob, okay, sweetpea?"

Allie nods. "Can I have another gingersnap?"

* * *

**January**

"Bitsy!" Renata yells across the dressing room, as soon as Allie's head is through the door for their first practice of the new year. "Allie, guess what!"

Renatka's sitting in her stall (labelled 18 JANKOWSKA), half in and half out of her pads. She and Meghan are always among the first ones to arrive, because putting on goalie equipment takes longer and because they have weird goalie ... stuff ... to do before games. (Allie is also usually among the first to arrive, because Papa.) Her short pale-brown hair is a staticky mess and she's smiling so hard her face is practically _glowing_.

Allie grins back, pushes through the door, and drags her hockey bag across the room to her own stall (15 BITTLE) to sit down and start getting changed.

"What?" she says. She has a feeling she knows, though: it's not the good news that Karolina's doctors said she's for sure going to get better, because Renatka borrowed her mom's phone to text Allie about that two weeks ago, and Renatka is _here_ when a month ago they thought maybe she wouldn't be, so ...

Renatka puts down the pad she was about to strap onto her left leg -- the pads are new ones, Allie notices for the first time, not the too-small second-hand ones she's been playing in for the past year and a half since Meghan, who's taller, outgrew them -- and turns to look at Allie.

"I got this letter in the mail," she says, "right before Christmas? From Coach Farrell? And it said there's this scholarship for goalies in our league, and I won it! It's, like, enough to pay for new pads and new skates, and even my fees for next season! So I can keep playing, and Mama won't have to worry about paying for anything for a while!"

Allie, who can do what she wants because she's still in her regular clothes, leaps up and whoops and does a happy dance. "That's so awesome, Kovey!" she half-yells, and Renatka stands up, pads and all, so they can hug.

"I didn't even know there were scholarships in this league," Renatka says, when they've calmed down and Allie's taking off her jeans to put on her under armor. "Neither did Mama. I didn't even apply! It just _happened_."

And Allie's pretty sure how it happened, too, and the whole thing has Pépère's big fingerprints all over it. And Daddy and Papa's, too. She grins an extra, secret grin to herself. Out loud, she says, "It's because you're the most bad-ass U12 goalie ever. _Obviously_."

Renatka blushes and ducks her head. "Well, anyway."

Allie leans over to knock their shoulders together. "I don't care how it happened, I'm just glad you're staying," she says. "And--"

But then the door crashes open and Meghan and Shiyomi and Irina pile into the dressing room with their gear bags, quickly followed by Olivia and Jenell, and then Harper and Shayna and Makayla, and pretty soon there are two dozen girls putting on hockey pads and lacing up skates and talking loudly about what they did over winter break.

Which is just as well, because Allie's pretty sure Papa and Daddy and Pépère don't want anyone to know they've been playing Santa Claus.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations for mobile readers:
> 
> J'y viens, Papa! = Coming, Papa!  
> C'que c'est, Papa? = What's up, Papa? / What is it, Papa?  
> C'est quoi ça que Pépère me raconte, Allie? Tu lui as demandé-- = What's this I hear from Grandpa, Allie? You asked him--  
> Viens 'citte, Papa! = C'mere, Papa!  
> Chui désolé, p'tit-gars = I'm sorry, {buddy / little guy / little dude / LittleBit / whatever}  
> Ça va, Papa. Je t'aime, Papa = It's OK, Papa. I love you, Papa.  
> Je t'aime aussi, p'tit-gars. Je t'aime tellement = I love you too, little dude. I love you so much.
> 
> I have put Allie on a girls under-12 team, rather than a co-ed one, because why not. She plays because she loves it, not because Jack and/or Bitty told her she should, obviously.
> 
> I have also made Allie's team multicultural -- as well as, clearly, totally accepting of all different kinds of families -- because this fic is set in the future so I can make it any kind of beautiful future I want.
> 
> I don't actually know all that much about youth hockey (because my kid, fortunately for my schedule and my wallet, does not play hockey and has never played hockey) but what I do know, from friends whose kids play, is that there is a LOT of practising, often at ungodly hours of the morning; a LOT of travel for games; and a LOT of expense, particularly for goalies, who need more and more specialized equipment. You can get a lot of stuff second-hand, obviously, either through direct hand-me-downs or via stores like Play It Again Sports (not sure if they have that in the US but it's big here in Canada), but still.
> 
> Finally, Jack and Bitty added each other's surnames to their own when they got married (Bitty's full legal name is now Eric Richard Zimmermann Bittle, and Jack's is Jack Laurent Bittle Zimmermann), but still go by their own names, except that Jack is Jack Bittle in school-related contexts; they named their children after their parents (Alicia Suzanne Bittle and Richard Robert Bittle) because they are hopeless, hopeless saps, and gave them both Bitty's surname because Jack didn't want them to have the same issues he did as a kid. (This tactic may or may not work, but Jack and Bitty are trying really, really hard to raise their kids in a supportive, nurturing atmosphere and prioritize their mental health.)


End file.
